Date: Sat, 5 Aug 2000 22:16:28 -0500
From: Willy B
Subject: Flak Bait pt5
Flak Bait
Part 5
Jean quietly wiped the blood off his hands and knife on the hem of
the old woman's dress and rolled her lifeless body into the brush alongside
the trail. He smiled coldly before continuing back to the small farm where
his charges were hidden. The first victim of the reward on the young
American's life had been claimed. Collaborators deserved no mercy and
received none from him.
He sped up his pace, anxious to return to the two boys he'd left in
what he'd thought was a safe haven. Before the old woman had died, she'd
indicated her husband would be returning that day. Then she'd gloated that
the boys were probably already dead and had spit in his face, defiant to
the last.
If they were still alive, he'd have just enough time to retrieve
them and disappear back into the forest. He hoped it would take time for
her body to be discovered even though he hadn't had time to hide it
properly. If the boys he was responsible for were dead, he vowed to leave
nothing behind but bodies!
At least Michael and Paul were well armed. He'd had to leave the
two submachine guns with them when he went into the town. He could only
hope they'd not hesitate to use them if necessary. Besides, he also didn't
want to have to face his own guns to eke out his revenge.
Michael nervously peered at the two men through the straw that
covered him, when they entered the dingy barn. He hadn't seen these two
before and was on edge. The family had seemed friendly enough but who could
be sure of anything? No one had ever trained him about what to do if he was
ever shot down.
His fingers on the barrel of the Sten provided little comfort to
him. He thought he knew how it worked but had never fired it and had never
had to kill close-up before. Sure, he'd managed to actually shoot down one
fighter that had attacked him but had never seen the face of the enemy
pilot.
He felt Paul slowly stir next to him when the older of the two men
called out. He was dismayed when Paul suddenly sat up, uncovering his
location, but Paul spoke the language, he didn't. He'd just have to trust
and watch. He finally started to relax slightly when Paul slowly stood and
smiled sheepishly at the two, who were smiling back with a mixture of pity
and greed. He didn't think much of that, though. Jean was going to pay them
for their troubles, after all.
"I am sorry to trouble you." Paul cautiously stepped out of the hay
and stood with pleading hands outstretched. Hiding had been useless. It was
obvious that these two knew they were there when they'd entered. "Thank you
for letting us hide. We will tell no one."
"You are welcome here." The older of the two men cast an appraising
stare at the doe-eyed youth standing nervously before him. It was a shame,
what the Germans would do to him before they killed him and the other still
hidden in the straw. Yes, it would be easier on these two boys if he and
his son killed them quickly before they were turned over. Besides, the
reward would see his family safely through the many hard months ahead. The
only objection had come from his young daughter, but he figured that was
because she found the two boys beautiful. "Help your friend out and we will
provide you with what food we can spare. I imagine you have a long way to
go."
"Yes, sir." Paul felt relief flow over him. He'd been concerned
that, when it was discovered that they were still there, the owners of the
farm would be upset with them. This offer of further assistance was beyond
his wildest expectations. He turned back to where Michael lay under the
straw, his feeling of hope rekindled, and unconsciously switched to
English, "Michel? Please. You may come out. They will give us food."
Paul saw his friend struggle to sit up and bent to reach out a
helping hand. He never saw the short board the old man had produced from
under his long tattered coat before it slammed into his back. The blow
cracked, skipping across his shoulder blades, barely missing his head! Pain
shot through his stunned body as he continued his forward motion to sprawl
over Michael's body.
His arms instinctively rose to cover his head as he felt another
hard blow deflect off his forearm to scrape his side. His numbed arm
dropped to the side, leaving him exposed for the next blow he knew was
coming. He felt himself almost wishing for a quick end to the pain that
threatened to overwhelm his mind, but managed to roll onto his back. The
blow again aimed at his head slammed into Mike's covered legs instead. He
was dimly aware of the younger man advancing on them, an old disused scythe
gripped tightly, drawing back to deliver a fatal blow!
The sharp, sudden cracks that issued from Michael's side and the
eruption of hay seemed to stop time itself. Paul could only lie still as
the old man's next stroke ended before it began and he collapsed, writhing
in agony.
Mike felt like his heart would leap out of his chest. He'd been
frozen, but just for an instant. The unexpected attack first shocked, then
enraged him, his legs screaming at him from the barely shielded blow they'd
received. It was like he was back in the air, tracking the fleeting targets
he could only glimpse. The Sten tried to jump out of his hand as it barked
his reply. He couldn't remember thinking when he swung to his next
target. The younger man seemed frozen by the noise and violence that had
felled his father. Mike's finger didn't hesitate as his reflexes controlled
his actions.
"Paul!" His breathing came in ragged gasps as he forced his finger
off the trigger of the empty gun. What he'd lacked in aim had been made up
by volume. His ears still rang loudly in the still aftermath. He quickly
rolled back to Paul's stunned body, relieved to find growing recognition in
his eyes. "Are you OK?"
"Oui," Paul whispered. His back and arm burned terribly, under his
shirt. He refused to speak while Mike stood to survey the scene. He rolled
onto his side to relieve the pressure as his breathing slowly eased with
the pain. Why had these men attacked them? They didn't have anything
valuable to give these people. It didn't make any sense to him. They had
done nothing, asked for nothing! A new worry crept into his fogged brain;
they had to have been heard! Someone would come! He pushed his good arm
under the straw. Where was the other weapon and the extra clips?
Jean cautiously crept closer to the ancient structure. He felt cold
inside; visions of Paul's and Michel's slim, familiar bodies being torn by
the bullets he'd heard filled his mind. The only obvious sign of life he'd
seen as he approached was the farmer's little brat disappearing into the
woods, running as fast as her legs would move her. That, and the sound of
someone puking.
Jean released a slow breath and furtively peeked around the door,
ready to spring back, or forward, as the case would tell. He was relieved
to see `his boys' alive. Michael was on his hands and knees, facing his
puddle of vomit near a body of a man. Jean couldn't tell much about the
body, it no longer had a face. Only a spreading red pulpy mass remained.
His attention was instantly diverted by a low groan coming from
another body of an older man lying closer to the door. He made eye contact
with Paul and entered quietly, stepping around the growing pool of blood
running out the sleeve of the old man's coat. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," Paul mumbled. He still didn't want to rise, any activity was
torture, but knew they had to leave before anyone reported the
gunfire. "They tried to kill us. Why?"
"I will tell you later." Jean pulled the boy to his feet, noticing
the pained grimace he received. They would have to wait before he could
check Paul for the injuries he obviously had. "We have to go, now!" He
gestured dramatically at Mike, hoping his pantomime would speak for
him. "Michel? Michel!"
Mike turned at the urgent voice and stared at Jean gesticulating
wildly. He quickly wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. He'd seen
plenty of death and gore during his short time with his squadron, but had
never been face to face with the gore he was responsible for. The only
thing that helped ease his mind was that he'd been defending himself and
Paul from the deadly attack. It still wasn't easy, though.
"Michael! We must go!" Paul wearily watched his friend shakily
stand and cross to him.
"What about him?" Mike indicated the still living body in the barn
as he began to gather their meager supplies.
"Jean says we must hide in the trees." Paul took his share of the
load and, grabbing Mike, they cautiously trotted away from the
structure. "Jean will join us in a minute."
Mike chanced a quick glance over his shoulder and looked back at
the silent, hard figure standing in the doorway. He felt himself
involuntarily shudder. He had long ago shed all his illusions about this
kind of war he was now involved in. He'd been shown no mercy by the enemy
and knew that Jean didn't take prisoners or leave witnesses either.
Jean looked down at the man coldly after he saw the boys enter the
trees. He had to finish the swine off before he could say something to the
invaders, but had no wish for the others to see him do it.
"Please," the old man gasped through his bubbling lips, "my wife?
My daughter?"
"They are both dead," Jean lied as he reached for his busy
knife. "Your family is dead. You killed them today."
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Mike quietly ran his fingers down the visible ridge of Paul's
spine, carefully avoiding the purple marks across his upper back. Jean had
only grunted and declared Paul fit enough to continue, as if they'd had a
choice, after they rested for a moment.
He reluctantly removed his hand and rolled onto his back to stare
through the trees at the receding contrails and the barely audible droning
of a thousand engines miles over their heads. He sighed and closed his eyes
for a moment as he felt Paul settle next to him. His thoughts drifted back
to the `clean' battles he'd fought. Up in the air, you never saw the
people. Locked away in his turret, he'd never even been aware of their own
damage unless told about it. The faces of his long dead crewmates swam
before his eyes as he smiled wanly at their bittersweet memory.
He had been the `baby' they all had looked after. Even Captain
Stuart, another Texas boy, had taken their underage gunner under his
wing. But now Captain Stuart was gone. He'd never see his twin infant
sons. Mike figured his parents had also received the dreaded telegram all
families feared. It would be just like the enemy to be so sure of catching
him that they'd probably already informed the Red Cross of his death. Or
maybe they'd make sure he was listed as missing forever.
Mike felt the gentle kiss to his forehead and opened his eyes to
stare at Paul's beautiful features. This was his new `crew'. Paul was now
the one he shared everything with as they looked after each other.
"It is hard?" Paul whispered into his friend's ear, content to
ignore the dull aches that permeated his body as long as they could remain
close. "I mean...to kill?"
"Yes," Mike whispered back. He kissed Paul back, surprising
himself, before he continued. Somehow the kiss had seemed so natural to
him, he no longer thought in the terms of right and wrong he'd grown up
with. "But what else could I do? They were hurting you. I couldn't face
that."
"I think I love you." Paul laid his head on Michael's chest,
hearing him breathe through the jacket he wore. "If it is wrong, I am
sorry."
"Wrong?" Mike quietly reviewed his thought, then ran his fingers
through Paul's brown hair. "No. It's not wrong. How can it be wrong...I
think...I don't know...I think I'm in love as well."
"We go," Jean announced as he dragged himself upright and waited
for his charges to follow before he once again set the pace through the
forest.
Mike could only stare in wonder and dread at the back of the man
who led them forward. He didn't think Jean had slept in days and could only
hope they'd reach wherever they were going before the man collapsed in
complete exhaustion. He was also amazed that the same man who'd shown them
such compassion was the same man who was coldly and mercilessly deadly. He
was glad they were on the same side!
Jean quietly walked behind Michael, giving him an intense
stare. Suddenly his hands rose and clapped together loudly next to the
slight youth's ear. Mike jumped and spun, only to be struck hard by the
back of Jean's hand, sending him sprawling. "No! No! No! Paul, tell this
idiot, again! He is supposed to be the son of a bombed out family from the
coast! Going to work in a factory!"
"If we are questioned by the Germans..." Jean turned and stomped
back to lean against a nearby tree, "...the bombs destroyed his hearing and
speech! He must act as if he cannot hear, no matter what may happen!"
He shook his head and smiled to take the sting from his blow. He
was tired and frustrated. They would have to be able to move through some
of the towns along their way. They couldn't stay in the forest
forever. Their supplies would end long before they reached the mountains of
the border. They would have to travel through populated areas, perhaps even
use the transportation systems still available.
Jean glanced down to the travel orders and identification that had
been forged for the three of them and the money he had for train fare to
the factory site near the Swiss border. Everything was ready! Everything
except this damn fool American with his absurd accent! He snorted his
displeasure and sighed. Even if the fool could learn their language, he
probably wouldn't be understood anyway.
"All right for now." Jean crossed to Mike and brushed the wet dirt
and duff off his backside, sorry to see the boy flinch at his touch. He
would have Paul translate his apology for his temper later. "Just a little
longer, Paul. Then we can rest." He smiled in the dark as they set off
again. If the boy acted the ass sometimes, he had to admit it was certainly
an attractive one. He could only hope that one day Paul would get to enjoy
it along with the rest of Michael for a long time.
Mike silently trudged behind, picking his way as carefully as he
could. His cheek still stung, reminding him of that most recent failure. He
devoted all his attention toward his part in their deadly play. Any
mistakes like the last one would not only spell his demise but also that of
his friend and the boy he'd finally admitted he loved.
"I'm sorry." He slowly drew alongside Paul so his whisper could be
heard. "I'll do better."
"No, I am sorry," Paul breathed back, his voice barely audible to
his own ears. "Jean is tired. More than us, I think."
The three of them continued on in silence, broken only by the
sounds issuing from under their feet. After what seemed like an
interminable time, Jean waved the boys to a halt and advanced alone toward
a house at the edge of what was a small, comfortable looking village. Jean
knew the people who lived there very well. He'd been surprised to find they
were part of another local underground cell, but really shouldn't have
been. The couple had lost as much as he had to the occupiers. He stopped in
the shadows by the back door and quickly rapped on it to alert the
occupants.
"Who is it?" The middle aged woman peered out the door, trying to
make out the intruder's features. "Jean?"
"Yes." Jean felt the emotion fill his quiet voice and eyes as he
looked at the face of the mother who had, along with her husband, shared
their love and their only son with him.
"Oh," her voice caught as she stepped to him and embraced him in
her arms. "I feared so much for you as well. When they took Peter away...to
that train...." her voice trailed off, unable to continue.
"I should have been there," Jean whispered into her ear as he
returned the embrace like a man drowning. "He was taken on his way to the
library. I'm sorry."
"Don't be." She pulled back to look at his face in the dim
moonlight. "He loved you very much. Too much for you to die with him." She
glanced around again. "Come in now, before we are seen."
"I am with two others. One is an American flyer." Jean paused to
let that news sink in. "We must hide for a few days. I have not slept...."
"You never have to ask that of us." She placed her fingers to his
mouth, stopping further unnecessary explanations. "Quickly, bring them in."
Paul nervously eased himself into the small tub this new family had
provided for their use, the warm water easing the aches in his arm and
back. Michael crouched nearby, covering himself as best as possible, while
he dried himself, from the eyes of the strange woman and her adult
daughter. They had looked over the two boys like a farmer appraising
mistreated livestock. It was obvious they did not like what they saw and
had set food before them immediately.
Afterward, the three fugitives had been ordered to strip and their
clothes were taken for cleaning. Paul tried to profess shyness when he
heard the sharp intake of breath from the older lady and the far off look
to her eyes after she'd seen and examined the old and new wounds on their
bodies. He quickly shed his inhibitions and the last of his clothing, when
the small tub had been produced for their use.
Jean already lay, asleep, on the old bed in the room they were
in. Paul had been mystified, but said nothing, when he saw the tears that
fell from Jean's eyes as he clutched the pillow under his head. It was the
only time he could ever remember seeing Jean like that, but Jean had only
volunteered that they were safe and to follow the directions they were
given.
Paul closed his eyes when he felt Michael's hands gently massage
around the sore edges of his bruises. He avoided touching them directly, as
if afraid the skin would tear. The hands quietly moved from his back to his
shoulders and chest. He suddenly blushed and sat up, glancing past Michael,
looking for the women and finding them absent from the room. He breathed
out his relief and looked back at Mike, letting his eyes trail down the
American's body to focus on his hard penis bobbing in time to the heart he
loved.
Paul smiled and stepped out of the tub, letting the water cascade
off his body and over his own hard member that waved painfully from side to
side with his motion. He'd never seemed to have much control of that thing
anyway. It followed its own schedule in the recent past, even making its
presence felt one Sunday in church.
Mike helped Paul dry himself, paying careful attention to the
sensitive parts of his back before moving to the other sensitive parts of
his friend's body. Grabbing each other, they led themselves over to the
clear side of the bed and sat. Mike glanced at Jean to ensure himself that
the exhausted fighter was out, dead to the world around them. Jean
continued to snore quietly as the two boys embraced and stroked each
other. Their timidity fell away with the stimulation they each received
from the other.
Mike rubbed his free hand across Paul's chest, feeling the muscles
moving over the pronounced ridges of his skeletal structure. He shuddered
slightly when Paul's fingers found his nipples and he learned for the first
time just how sensitive he was. Leaning forward, Mike kissed the underside
of Paul's smooth chin where it joined his neck. He could feel the pulse of
Paul's heart, as he trailed down the side of his neck, through his lips and
through the member in his hand simultaneously.
Paul felt himself pushed back onto the bed as Mike found his chest
with his tongue. He wanted to return the sensations but the pleasure
coursing through him, after that day's pain, kept him rooted in place. He
almost cried out when Michael finally took him into his mouth.
He frantically pulled at Mike's slim legs and managed to pull him
into a position he could reach his love with his own mouth. He almost
managed to smile around Mike as he worked. Neither had to worry about
making too much noise or crying out now. They had discovered the most
effective gags imaginable to him.
The two remained lost in their feelings as their muscles contracted
and released, each involuntarily beginning to hump the other. Neither could
have stopped if they'd wanted to. Paul's drawn-up testicles contracted
further as his body finally released from a point buried deep within
him. He had to force his jaw to relax, he was sure Michael would not wish
to be bitten. Suddenly Mike also stiffened and began his own release,
whimpering around Paul as he did so. The tension and stresses seemed to
flow out of them with their releases as they finally began to relax,
luxuriating in each other
Paul yawned sheepishly and grinned, forcing Mike to follow suit as
they moved alongside each other in the dark room. Laying his head on Paul's
shoulder, Mike lazily draped an arm protectively across his chest, content
to remain intertwined forever.
Jean smiled as he listened to the two boys completing their
explorations that night, completely unaware of his watching eyes. At first
he'd been confused as to what had awakened him, but had remained still
through it. He felt Peter with him that night, his joy and wonder as each
new discovery and sensation filled the room the way he had in life. The
last thing Jean did before sleep returned was to drape his own arm across
the naked sleeping bodies next to him. He had no idea what the future would
bring, but his purpose was clearer now than it had ever been. He would see
these two safely to refuge together, even if it meant his own life would
end.
Strangely, he felt himself grow even calmer. If the future did lead
to his death? Peter would be with him, be there to welcome him with those
open loving arms he missed so much.
End of Part 5
My thanks to ED for his assistance with this story. Great job, ED!
Thank you for your responses to this story. They mean a lot to me.
Let me know what you think of the story so far.
Thanks again. Willy B. (haztech@msn.com)